


Eleutheria

by Talullah



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-08
Updated: 2008-09-08
Packaged: 2018-01-25 04:57:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1632680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/pseuds/Talullah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hera's long path.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eleutheria

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Aimeek
> 
> Many thanks to Nila (luicontarfics at LJ) for the beta.
> 
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> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/132238694@N03/38218947036/in/dateposted-public/)  
> 
> 
>  
> 
> [Disclaimer/Blanket Statement](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/profile)

**1\. Breathe**

The air enters Hera's lungs for the first time, stinging, harsh and pure, and her head lightens as her eyes open to absorb the wonder that is being, that is to be born, delivered. Her mother's womb is but an addled memory or reddish light, labyrinthine dreams of things that are not yet part of her life and maybe will never be. Her mother's dreams, perhaps? Hera doesn't know. She will ask her, though, as soon as she can overcome the newness of her mother's hands on her skin, the curious feeling of being dried, dry, so vulnerable and new, small within this limitless thing that is air. Oh how it stings, still, entering her lungs so gratingly. But it feels less like an open wound now and she can stop crying, can finally hear her mother's voice, cooing, shushing, lulling.

There is so much pride in her voice but Hera can't make the words and for a moment she panics: she has not been separated from her mother's thoughts before, she cannot understand how perfect understanding suddenly was shattered and between the two of them a wall now stands, dividing, isolating. She wants to cry again, wants to do anything to push out the lump or fear and perplexity that formed in her tiny chest but her mouth is promptly filled with a turgid nipple and her cry never leaves her lips. 

She suckles out of instinct or maybe just curiosity and her mouth is flooded with warmth, with liquid joy. She suckles more, as her mother hums her approval and gently rocks her. There is a tension looming in her mother's breath, in the way her voice is low, restrained, and there's a note of fear. Hera recognizes something in the rhythm of Rhea's heart, something indefinable, subtle, yet real enough for her to worry. Words or not, maybe they were not as separated as she thought and that's good, that she can still connect with her mother. 

The milk quickly fills her tummy and Hera forgets her worries, suffused in warmth and love. Her mother will deal with whatever comes. 

* * *

She wakes a few hours later. At first, the shade of the room allied to the comfort of her crib confound her and she imagines she is still inside her mother, but gradually there are sounds, smells and she it is as if she was born again, that rush of newness that leaves her in terrified euphoria. Her eyes widen to take in the shape that looms over her crib as fear courses through her. Strong hands pick her up but they lack her mothers' gentleness. Hera doesn't feel loved, not at all. She is pressed to a cold shoulder and the smell there makes her cringe. Helpless, she feels a hard hand running up and down on her back and after a few moments, she recognizes the sounds the creature makes as some sort of cooing. She is moved up, her tiny cheek lost against the monsters' coarse one and something warm and damp draws her attention. Curiosity wins against fear and she tastes it: it's salty, almost bitter, nothing like milk.

The last thing she hears is a drawn sigh. Then she is pushed into darkness and wetness and warmth and it's not like home at all, not like inside her mother. She chokes and chokes, slides down, further down, then there's nothing. 

* * *

**2\. To Learn You Must Forget**

Hera has everything to learn and so little to forget. She doesn't know time, doesn't know light, doesn't know hope. She does know words. Hestia learned them somehow and taught Demeter. Hera has forgotten when she has first called Hestia mother, and when Demeter told her about Rhea's treason of her children, or Cronus' madness. She grows and learns and forgets. 

Hades comes and she learns something new, something about boys and girls and organs and procreation. Demeter speaks of fertility forever, makes cryptic remarks about how some evils are necessary. Hestia gently chides her and takes the baby into her arms. Looking at her, Hera can almost see herself tiny and helpless, held in those arms, yearning for the love and safety that Hestia can only give in small parcels.

Hera is too small to hold the baby and too big to be held herself. To learn of Hestia's arms, she had to forget Rhea's; now she has no mother. Demeter is kind, but Hera knows she is a sister. Rhea's scent, Rhea's heartbeat, Rhea's voice were all obliterated by Hestia's and now Hestia belongs to the baby. It's time to learn more and Hera learns how to hate. 

Then Poseidon comes. Another boy. Hera's first instinct is to hate him too, but Hestia is too busy with Hades who toddles around to impossible places inside the large cave that is their home. She imagines Demeter will take care of the baby, but her sister is nowhere to be seen. Hera never knows where the food comes from, but she knows that Demeter's job is to find it, and so she assumes her sister is off foraging for something. 

The baby cries. Hera shuffles her feet, looks away, but the cries are insistent, pressing something inside her that hurts a little. Reluctantly, she picks him up, hums softly a lullaby she can't recall where she has learned, and finds something for him to feed on.

Hestia finds Hades and comes around, but Poseidon doesn't need her anymore. He sleeps peacefully on Hera's tummy, nestling his little head against her hand. Hestia's smile contains such bright approbation that Hera forgets her grudge and beams back. Poseidon has taught her something new.

* * *

They are all grown. Demeter talks crazy, says things that no one really wants to understand. Hestia does her best to keep them united, talks of family, love, duty, patience. Poseidon throws temper tantrums more often than Hera can count and Hades sulks, broods as if a single smile could ruin his handsome visage for all eternity.

Hera still doesn't know how Hestia knows the things she does, but she is glad that she was taught, loved to a degree, cared for. She still has to learn what hope means and why her sisters say hers is a hard heart. She doesn't care, doesn't remember anything outside this cave.

Then one day the earth shakes, everything moves in jolts, threatening to collapse. A bright light comes from above as the world tilts. Hestia urges them to run to the light. Poseidon is the first to go, although Demeter out runs him. Everything shakes again, as if the earth were retching them and Hestia shouts at Hera, for the first time in their lives. "Go!"

Hera doesn't want to, doesn't want to leave her home or Hestia behind but Hades drags her by the arm and leaves her no choice. Her only comfort is knowing that they will all be together, as Hestia follows right on their heels. The last thing to come is that odd rock that fell among them once.

They are somewhere that is not the cave and Hestia cries in loud sobs, laughs, looks around and falls into a deep embrace with Demeter. The light is so strong that Hera thinks it may blind her and as she looks back, she understands: they were swallowed alive. The monster is crouching, still retching though there is nothing left inside him and she knows that this is her sire. Of a sudden, Demeter's crazy talk comes into sharp sense. Hera feels the bile rising to her throat but Hades and Poseidon drag her and her sisters away, before anything dire may happen to them. 

When they have pause, Hera sits and tries to order the mess in her head. This outrageous miracle robbed her of the only home she had known and she grieves for the cozy safety of the cave that turned out to be her father's innards. She loves the light, even if her eyes hurt. Her senses are overwhelmed with color, sounds, and scents. There's a horizon that's so far away she would have to walk for long before reaching it. She just might.

* * *

**3\. Love, Obviously**

They hide. It's sad, if you think of it, but Hera never affords herself the time to think that freedom is just an illusion. So she hides in the plains, finds a place for herself tending to a herd of cows. Simple and plain like that. She has milk and warmth at night. Hestia lives in the same valley, a couple of leagues away, and so does Hades, though he never comes, happy ensconced in his cave. The boy learned to love the half-light more than if ever should be loved. Poseidon has moved as far out as he could. Sometimes he comes to visit, bringing strange and wondrous things of his sea. Hera tastes them, inhales the fresh scent in his hair and thinks that someday she will leave this hiding place and see the world as it deserves being seen. 

Hera calls this happy, despite the looming fear of Cronus' return. She is happy. One day she sees a boy that is not Hades and certainly not Poseidon, and she hides behind her heard, letting him pass ahead. He whistles, looks happy and incredibly handsome, making her heart leap with more than fear. She keeps quiet and waits for him to pass her by completely before dashing off to warn Hestia and Hades. 

She has just finished her story, when a voice calls at the mouth of the cave, melodious and masculine. Hades for once leaves his refuge and meets the stranger, a hand holding a cautionary spear well in sight. After a few moments the voices grow closer but there are no sounds of anger and Hestia loosens her arms around Hera, letting her breathe again.

Hades comes in with the boy and gain, Hera thinks he's the most beautiful things she's ever seen with his unruly curls, dark as night and the scintillating blue of his eyes transmuted into black by the night in the cave.

"Sisters," Hades says. "We are free from our hiding. Cronus was banished to the Tartarus and we need not fear for our lives or freedom anymore."

Hera beams and jumps up to take the boy's hands in hers, thanking him profusely for bringing such good news. The thought that maybe she is acting silly crosses Hera's mind but she doesn't care, as he smiles back and kisses her cheek. 

Hades looks somewhat embarrassed but continues, "Zeus is more than just a messenger, sister. He is the one who has done the deed, and he is our blood brother."

Hera steps back, trying to swallow the knot in her throat. What gentle devastation Hades' words bring! A brother! A brother where she saw a lover? She tries to smile. Now that she knows, she can see how his nose resembles Poseidon's, how the corners of his mouth are just like Demeter's.

"Welcome, then, brother, and again, our deepest thanks for this deliverance," she hears herself saying.

* * *

Hera thinks and thinks and watches Zeus to the exhaustion, and knows she is being obvious but she simply cannot fathom what else she can do. She tends to her cows, sings a sad song that pours from her heart, for the first time finding the song of her friend the cuckoo a taunt more than a happy salutation. At home, she washes, cooks, cleans, goes to bed and stays wide awake, staring at the straw above her head. Zeus. She has had a whole in her chest since he has left.

He promised he would be back, but when? Hera thinks the sky pales against the glint of his blue eyes, the earth pales against the tan of his skin. All she can think is that he is not there. Brother or not she wants him for a husband. Wasn't her mother sister to her father? Hestia doesn't approve, but Hera knows best.

When he returns at last, she is driving the heard home. She has sweated the whole day through under the scorch of the sun, and she is not at her cleanest. Self-conscious, she returns his carefree greeting with a smile, and an invitation to partake of some fresh water, back at her house. 

They sit by the door, talking in gentle voices until he remembers something and starts searching through his bag.

"I have brought you something," he says, handing her the roundest, reddest pomegranate. "To match your lips."

"Red?"

Zeus laughs. "And ripe, and bittersweet, I'm sure, if you'd ever let me taste them..."

Hera's heart somersaults then sprints. She is at loss for what to say, he is sitting so close his breath caresses her cheek and her body is doing all these strange things such as sending all the blood to her cheeks and none to her brain. Lightheaded, she may wobble a little or not. She never knows exactly how it happens but his lips close on hers, she gasps, he gently presses his tongue inside her mouth, and she bolts. 

Soft laughter comes from his lips, pleasure marred with a tinge of amusement Hera doesn't quite like, despite the fact she likes everything else about this boy whose looks could kill. He leans in and kisses her again.

"Marry me, sister," he says.

She only nods, trembling as his hand descends from her cheek to her breast.

* * *

**4\. The Breaking**

Hera is a goddess. Now she knows what she is. Zeus has set her on a throne, has had all those other gods and demi-gods, their siblings even, calling her queen and paying respect. Hera would trade all of that in blink if only the pain stopped. Her belly has steadily grown for months and now her time is due. Hera feels a rare pang of sympathy for her mother. Carrying the child was only slightly less painful than actually delivering it.

She has had Hestia and Demeter by her side all the time but she has not been able to share their joy and enthusiasm for her pregnancy. Now Demeter holds her hand, as she screams and pushes again, and Hestia does something unbelievably painful with her fingers between her legs.

Zeus is nowhere to be seen, of course. The pain in her belly wanes for an instant and it is then that Hera starts crying. Just like that, a sob leaves her soul, then another and another before she can stop them. So much for dignity, if there was any left. The vomiting, the aching breasts, the terrifying blood losses, the fainting, the constant, toilsome kicks, the sheer exhaustion, would have been nothing if Zeus had stood by her side, but no, all Hera had were two pitying sisters and Echo, the handmaiden who kept excusing her husband, each time less convincingly. Where had the love gone? 

Hestia's voice cut's through her sobs, urging her into one last push. She complies, feeling her flesh ripping in breathtaking agony, feeling the baby finally leaving her, and she is thankful, only for what and to whom she ignores.

One slap and the baby cries already, as loud outside as he was heavy and bothersome inside.

"Ares," she whispers through her fatigue. "That will be his name."

* * *

**5\. Nothing**

Somewhere inside Hera had known before she had stumbled upon the graceless coupling and stood by the doorjamb watching in amazed horror. Her own sister. Her own bed. Through the shock, she cannot decide which is worst: to be cuckolded by your husband or betrayed by your sister. She does know that she wants destruction, revenge, all the dark things she thinks deserves to be set upon the pair of mongrels.

She realizes she has been staring when she hears Demeter's whines turning to sharp cries. Zeus laughs and thrusts harder and the bitch spurs him with her heels. Hera doesn't want to know, doesn't want to see. She would rather tear her own eyes out that to see this but now it's too late.

She leaves before they notice her, tripping at the hem of her dress, struggling for air, for something other than these tears locked behind her eyes, burning but not falling. She could get some relief from something, something... but what? What could erase that image if only for a few seconds?

She goes through her house, through her kingdom and she rips and tears and rages. Oh the ridicule! She can see the laughter in their faces, but she wipes it way. The first to go is Echo, who so dutifully aided and abetted her husband in his cuckoldry. She opens her mouth and all that comes out are Hera's last words to her: "I am a hideous whore; I am a hideous whore..." 

The scorn Echo inspires doesn't do a thing to abate Hera's ire, rather the contrary. Why should anyone laugh, when her heart is torn in pieces and her pride is so deeply wounded? 

Her labor of ire lasts for days. When she finishes destroying everything that she can touch, maiming everyone that she can see, Hera returns to her home and finds her husband and her sister still on her bed, lounging, apparently amused.

"Demeter!" she roars. Demeter raises her head, ready to deliver some sharp comment sharp as she always does. A frog leaps out of her mouth. Demeter puts her hands to her throat, coughing, and more come forth. Affright, she wraps herself in her gown and runs out of the room.

"Zeus."

Her husband smiles. He smiles. Hera knows that smile, placating, seducing, boyish enough to be endearing. It stays glued to his face as she vomits everything that her burning rage demands her to. She can see how at first Zeus willingly keeps it, still trying to appease her, trying to find a moment to slip a few words into the torrent of hers. Then, he tries to tame it but it is too late and it is truly fixed upon his handsome features, her punishment starting to make itself evident. She speaks until his smile is nothing more than a painful grimace. 

Hera was not stupid: she knows that soon enough Demeter will stop coughing frogs and that Zeus would be powerful enough to undo her work if only he was not so overwhelmed by her. 

She knows too that other times will come when she will be on this very same position - his lack of regret is painfully obvious. She doubts that Demeter was even the first.

There is no sanctity left in their marriage. 

There is nothing.

* * *

**6\. Peace Comes**

If she had been told that there was such as thing as a serene tragedy, Hera would have laughed, in her earlier years. Now she knows better. There is nothing more tragic than being forgotten by all. Yet, the change is so subtle that she only realizes what has happened when it is too late. She suspects it is the same for the others but she never misses them, never seeks their company.

What happens is that the mortals become so involved with their lives that they have a little less time for them, for the gods they should worship. Then, when punishment comes, the mortals, thinking they are so clever, find natural explanations for what was sent. Not all believe it at first, but the cult is definitely weakened. Other men come, give them new names and all is well, until other gods come, barbaric, demanding tyrants... For all their nonsensical cruelty, pointless demands for unnatural ascetism, they are new and foreign and the mortals can never resist a bauble. They are forgotten so quickly that Hera's head spins.

How will they survive with no cult? Hera thinks back to the time where there was no one to burn frankincense and chant to her, no one to leave offerings or perform rituals. It was cave, dark and damp, and there was a family, and she was content, if not happy. There was more to life than an empty Olympus. 

Hera sets her peacocks free, takes two dresses and a pair of good sandals and descends the mountain. As the world grows beneath her tired eyes, she feels the weight of so many sorrows, prayers, expectations. She drops her travel bag, walks on dropping her dress and as she emerges from it, she feels the need to leave her own flawless skin behind. The eagles dance and she wants to be with them, so free. 

Freedom, love, happiness... those are too small words for what she feels when her feet leave the ground.

* * *

**7\. All That Lingers On**

Nothing is left but fragments of another time. Hera doesn't mind. The light in Argos sears her eyes as she gazes at the blue sea, the blue sky above the heads of the tourists, and does a wider circle above the temple, enjoying the cooler air, before she lands on a shady lintel and rests, watchful again. The world has grown so large, so small, she doesn't know anymore. She could do a trick... She smiles to herself. It would be fun to see them running if a sudden storm appeared out of the blue. Then again, neither storms nor pranks were ever her thing.

She lives at the temple, takes the offerings the very few people who remember her now leave. There is the pregnant woman who prays for a healthy baby, the ageing beauty who, with a half-heart, asks for a more faithful husband, the shy foreign student who wants so badly to believe in something... 

She may let a soft breeze refresh the tired student, or lend the tiniest sheen of youth to the cuckolded beauty, or even check on the baby inside her mother, but she never once gives an unequivocal sign of her existence to these people. The world has changed enough for her acolytes to be committed if they ever came out of the temple saying they had seen a goddess in the flesh and bone. Or maybe they would not. Maybe they would bring others, more than she cares to endure these days.

Her mind wanders to the light again. She has never stopped loving it, from the first moment she was freed from her father's cave stomach. The light bounces on the marble, scattering in patterns that never grow old and Hera squints, smiles, falls in love all over again with her radiant ruins.

_Finis  
September, 2008_

**Author's Note:**

>   * Many thanks to for beta reading. All remaining mistakes are mine.
>   * Written as a NYR for , for Aimeek, who requested "Hera; I'll take any character, but I'm particularly interested in Hera. Experiment with form, if you can."
>   * Written during 's 1st Dash - September 6&7: 7 for 7 Word Lists. The theme was oxymora and my combinations of the given words was: 
>     1. Euphoria/Terror
>     2. Miracle/Outrage
>     3. Gentle/Devastation
>     4. Breathtaking/Agony
>     5. Amazement/Horror
>     6. Serene/Tragedy
>     7. Radiance/Ruin
> 



End file.
